Troubadour

Sometimes I wish I could be a troubadour,
The ultimate philosopher of all and more,
A lyrical escort to the evening chickadees,
Serving my homemade musical remedies

I would let your hearts dictate my songs,
And if you wish I’d write the wrongs,
You’d smile and drop a penny or quarter,
Happiness and illusions we’ll trade in barter

When I’d sense a couple of shivering feet,
Tired of standing on the grounds of defeat,
I’d cheer them up with the jolliest tune,
And walk with them till they imagine June

And when the nervous night finally falls,
The one which my lonely heart appalls,
When perfidious night bulbs start selling you lies,
My songs shall entertain wanton fireflies

Alone my guitar bids the autumn farewell,
With clefts in my heart and blisters that swell,
The sweet reminders and the choking anxiety,
The violated stand quiet for the sake of variety

In Shadows and silhouettes and shaking strings,
In Concrete bruises and traffic stings,
In resonating pagodas you could hear me sing,
And challenging fate for all it may bring.



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